


Where the Horses' Heads are Turned

by Bamf_babe



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Modern Era, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, a whole lot, and what that means for a human mind, just a soft fic, may have cried a little writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bamf_babe/pseuds/Bamf_babe
Summary: Jaskier wakes up in a bed with a strange man.Geralt has to live with someone who cannot remember him.At least they have each other.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 209
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #002





	Where the Horses' Heads are Turned

Geralt woke up with a kitchen knife at his neck. Back when he was young, this would not have been unusual but over the past few decades, he had tried to settle down and make sure he could take care of...well. 

Jaskier was glaring down at him, his cornflower blue eyes wide and terrified yet possessing a hardness he hadn’t seen in years. 

“Who are you and what am I doing here?” Jaskier growled in a low voice. 

Geralt sighed and worked on sounding as calming as possible, “Your name is Jaskier, I am your husband Geralt, we are currently in our apartment in Chicago. You have dissociative amnesia and have trouble remembering who you are.”

For a moment, Jaskier looked confused, then his look hardened again.

“How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“Think. Can you recall who you are? Your own name? Look around the apartment. The guitar, the plants, surely something within them calls to you.”

Jaskier did in fact pause and look around. The dim morning light was shining into the window and casting shadows on the black guitar Geralt had pointed out and while Jaskier was already dressed, he could clearly see the bright apartment as somewhere he would want to live. Geralt always did try and find ways to make this apartment the perfect place for Jaskier. 

Finally, slowly, Jaskier lowered the knife and Geralt could breathe easier. It was hard, sometimes, when Geralt would see Jaskier and there would be no recognition in his eyes. He had never thought about the impact that centuries upon centuries of living would have on a human mind. It was simply not built to contain so many years of living. Some days, Jaskier would remember bits and pieces of his life, other times, Geralt would have to sit for hours on end, telling and re-telling stories. There was not much else he could do. 

“I suppose this is the part where I should apologize,” Jaskier said.

Geralt gave a wry smile, “At this point, it’s almost familiar.”

He got out of bed and dressed for the day. After so many years, he did not need to work and so spent most of his days in the apartment with Jaskier. It was in many ways, the happiness and quietness he had only ever dreamed of having before. There was just one problem. Geralt turned and saw Jaskier standing there, like a lost dog. 

“Here,” Geralt said, handing Jaskier a bottle of pills, “It’s a medication for depression, a common side-effect of your condition.”

Jaskier held the orange and white pill-bottle in his hand, rolling and turning it over, seemingly looking for something Geralt could not comprehend. Then he looked back over and a tentative smile spread across his face. He pocketed the pills.

“Well then, I suppose we should make ourselves something to eat then. Can’t get better on an empty stomach.”

Then Jaskier walked out of the bedroom, intent on searching for the kitchen. Geralt smiled. This was one of the good days. Jaskier had such an infalling polite personality and such an open nature that he oftentimes trusted Geralt at his words and instinct alone. It made everything easier. 

Geralt got ready in the bathroom and by the time he had come back out, Jaskier had seemingly found his way around the kitchen. There were all the ingredients for pancakes laid out and Geralt quickly got to work making them, Jaskier filling the space with questions about their lives together and time together that Geralt happily answered. 

He loved to reminisce about their past, their many adventures, and many family members. 

“Tell me about our wedding,” Jaskier asked, as Geralt was moving a pancake from the pan to a plate. 

Geralt looked down at his finger, where an old and tarnished steel band sat. After so many years, it felt like it had grown into the grooves of his hand. He never took it off. There were so many years of wear and scratches on its surface that most would call it useless. To him, it was the second most precious piece of jewelry in the world. The first sat on a chain he wore around his neck where his medallion used to be back when he traveled the path. It was a silver band, with far fewer scratches than his own yet just as ancient. He never gave it to Jaskier, terrified of him losing it one morning when he woke up to find himself in a strange place with a strange man. Geralt kept it close. 

He came back to himself and tried to answer Jaskier’s original question, “It was in the winter, of course, it was. You said something about it being poetic and how it represented something about our Winters never being apart again. I agreed because it was the easiest way to gather my brothers and Vesemir. Cirilla was there of course, and Yennefer and Triss. Our family. There was no official ceremony but a simple exchange of rings. It was snowing and we were both wearing heavy cloaks since you thought it had to take place outside. Yenn was convinced our lips would freeze together but Ciri promised should that happen she had a sword by her side and would slice the two of us apart.”

Geralt laughed, thinking back to the memory, “That statement actually gave you pause for a moment but you ended up telling Ciri you had enough faith in her sword skills that should the worst occur, you would trust her to cut us free. The vows - well…”

He thought back to that moment.

_Geralt was dressed in a thick black cloak with white fur trim. He was almost certain Yennefer had simply repurposed one of her old coats but he would never say anything. Jaskier stood opposite him, his cheeks turning pink from the cold and his royal blue cloak standing out boldly in the white covering Kaer Morhen._

_He took a breath in and began, “The last thing I ever wanted was someone needing me. I viewed myself as someone who Destiny would never stop fucking around with and that every person who came close to me would either be forced to be near me or leave altogether. You showed me that relationships, that love, and friendship are not something that is thrust upon you but rather something we chose each and every day. Love is a choice and throughout the many years we’ve known each other I have made the choice, again and again, to love you. I made the choice in small moments, stolen across slow days and nights spent together, learning together. You pushed me to be close to others and to be happy with the family we have made. Our love is not a burst of flames in the sky but rather the constant turn of the tide. I make the choice to always be here and never leave you behind again.”_

_Jaskier had visible tears in his eyes and in true fashion begins with a quip to offset his mood, “How many times did you read that to Cirilla before she found it satisfactory?”_

_The others around them laughed and then Jaskier looked Geralt in his eyes before speaking, “From the moment we met I knew you were something great. I just never expected to become a part of that tale. I figured myself a character to create the stories, never star in them. Yet, here we are. Strangely enough, I think my vows are shorter than yours, a first in this relationship. I could wax poetically about your moonlight hair and golden eyes for hours but what amazes me about you the most is your heart. You open it for the world even when it spits every favor back into your face. You love me without destiny or thought or threat. We are not an epic tale of betrayal, love, and war but rather a gentle whisper of a life lived not to be grand, but to be good. Because, in the end, you, Geralt, are my good.”_

Geralt found himself lost in thought again and when he looked over, Jaskier was still sitting there, patient and quiet, looking over at him, wondering. 

“The vows were perfect,” was all Geralt could get out. He didn’t have the strength to tell Jaskier again. Not again. He told himself he would never leave Jaskier behind and he would keep that promise. Even when Jaskier was no longer able to remember the promises themselves. 

Geralt turned away and clutched the ring under his shirt. 

“It sounds beautiful,” said Jaskier. His eyes were shining as if maybe he could imagine the wedding into existence and what Geralt wouldn’t give for those memories to re-assert themselves in his mind. It is as if his memories have decided to retire themselves somewhere far off into a little coastal village like Jaskier himself always wanted to. Why weren’t they at the coast now? Why did Geralt ever pull them to a land-locked city? Maybe Jaskier would be better on the coast. Maybe they should try for the coast. 

Jaskier again interrupted Geralt’s thoughts, “Where are they? Our friends? Our family?”

Geralt paused and waved his hand, “Around.”

The truth was, no one could stand to see them like this anymore. It was too painful. Geralt hadn’t heard from or even seen Yenn in - well, a long time. He couldn’t remember exactly how long. He didn’t want to explain anything more to Jaskier. 

The doorbell rang and Geralt stood up to see who it was. He opened the door and saw a man standing there, holding a few bags of groceries. He looked young, the maybe early twenties, and had short platinum blonde hair and freckles splashing themselves across his face. 

His green eyes met Geralt’s and he smiled, “Heya gramps,” he said, breezing past Geralt into the apartment like he owned the place, “Glad to see you are feeling a bit better. The windows are open and everything. Amazing! Maybe soon we can even go to the park again.”

The strange man set the groceries down on the kitchen island and when he turned around Geralt was right there. He loomed over the man, trying to look as threatening as possible. This was his space, he had to be here to protect Jaskier, who was this man to invade his home?

“What are you doing here?” Geralt ground out, furious. 

“Whoah,” the man said, holding up his hands, “I am simply here to check up on you, I know you said you could take care of yourself but there’s no reason to avoid me.”

“Look, Geralt,” Jaskier suddenly said from behind him, “clearly this man means no harm, I bet he was sent by the neighbors. I don’t know much about you yet but you do seem like the kind of man who would be a recluse.”

When the man heard Jaskier’s voice his face suddenly grew pale. He looked like he had seen something truly terrible and suddenly his countenance changed completely. The man shut himself off. His face lost it’s previously friendly demeanor. Now he just looked scared and maybe a little sad if Geralt looked closely enough. 

“I see. He’s here,” he looked at Geralt almost accusingly and then began to leave. 

He turned around at the door and looked at Geralt, “I can’t do this again.”

The man shut the door behind him and Geralt jumped when he felt Jaskier’s hand on his elbow. 

“What a strange man,” he commented, and Geralt hmmed in agreement. He knew that even without his memories Jaskier would understand. 

When Geralt turned around again Jaskier was on the couch, holding the guitar, plucking at the strings as if he remembered all the songs he had ever written. 

“I’ve played before haven’t I?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt nodded back and sat down beside him, “For as long as I’ve known you you were able to play any number of instruments. Always perfect. Always divine.”

Jaskier smiled, “Calling me divine darling?” 

The sun was rising higher, higher into the sky at this point and it almost washed out Jaskier, making his skin paler and brighter. He began to play a tune Geralt vaguely recognized and his singing was just as perfect as Geralt remembered. It seemed to caress Geralt, holding him a blanket made of music notes and warm words. Jaskier didn’t elect to play for him every day, whether due to lack of memory or lack of desire but today, he played. Today, he was good. 

After some time, Geralt never counted how much, he looked over and saw Jaskier rolling the pill bottle in his hand again. 

“Do I need to take these?” he said. “I don’t feel as though I need them.”

“You haven’t taken them in a while,” Geralt admitted, “You’ve been having good days. These pills help make bad days easier.”

Jaskier gave a self-deprecating smile, “But I will always forget.”

Geralt nodded.

“How many times have we had this conversation Geralt?”

“I don’t keep track.”

“How many times have we forgotten?”

“Many times.”

Jaskier seemed to curl in on himself, his hands were shaking. The guitar fell onto the wood flooring with an echoing crash. He started crying, his sobs a soft but quaking howl. Geralt should have expected this. The days had been too good. 

“How can you bear to be here with me?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt put his arm around Jaskier, “It is not a burden to bear but a wanted duty to hold.”

“Don’t you have a life to live? Friends to be with outside of me?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt shook his head. There was no one. There had been no one for a long time. Yenn was - he paused. Yenn wasn’t here. He knew that. But where was she? He couldn’t remember. Why did even her face seem far away now?

He looked over at Jaskier who looked sad, oh so sad. His eyes were bright with tears and Geralt wondered why he had sent them to this landlocked city. Jaskier always wanted to go to the coast. Why weren’t they at the coast? Maybe Jaskier could recover at the coast. He was still staring at Geralt. His eyes were so sad, so bright. Geralt was struggling to remember something, it was poised at the tip of his tongue. He heard the rolling of pills in a bottle in Jaskier’s hand. 

This was no longer a good day. How long had it been since Jaskier had taken any medication? How long has it been since the days had been bad? Geralt couldn’t remember, not even lurking in some obscure part of his mind. The pills kept rolling in the bottle, Jaskier rolling the bottle around and around. Clink-clink-clink. 

Geralt put his hand over Jaskier and stopped the clinking noise. He grabbed the bottle and held it, looking it over, searching for something unknown the same way Jaskier was earlier. His hand changed in his vision. It became paler, wrinkled, older. The ring practically shone against the ancient flesh. Spots and lines began to crawl across his vision as he looked at the pill bottle. 

He tried to read it but the words were not clear. He knew this was for the bad days and every day was sometimes a bad day but lately, they had been good days and why couldn’t he see?

The words began to come into focus and he read, “Aricept - Alzheimer's.”

Geralt couldn’t breathe. He tried to look around for Jaskier but he was gone, he was so far gone and he couldn’t do anything about it. He tried to stand up but his body protested in a way he hadn’t noticed all day. His flesh was tired and old and his mind was slipping away, leaving him in a soon-to-be corpse. Human minds were not meant to last this long and no matter what mutations may have been performed on him as a child he was at his core, still human. 

He couldn’t stand so he collapsed onto the floor. He noticed a flashing phone near him. How could he not have seen it throughout the day? Had he been so lost in Jaskier’s music, had that music ever been there at all?

Geralt answered the phone and spoke clearly into it, “Help. I need help.” He collapsed and for a while, everything was dark. 

He woke up to the sound of beeping. He opened his eyes slowly and saw that he was in a hospital. The man from earlier was here but Geralt knew just enough to put a name to the face. Cyril Rycorn. The last descendant of one Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. For centuries, Geralt had protected the family’s line and now the last one was here with him. 

“Cyril,” he said, and the man’s face broke into a smile again. But now, his face was filled with tears, and he was still crying, even now, through the smile. 

“Hello, gramps.” He said and grabbed Geralt’s hand. 

Geralt smiled. He couldn’t remember much, only fragments of the last-last Lion of Cintra he ever got to know. He would take Cyril to parks and museums, teaching him to paint and play music. He looked so much like his ancestor so many years ago. Still, even then, it was not much. It was slipping away, so hard to grasp. Geralt knew his clarity was here for a short time because he himself would not be here for much longer anyway. It was time to say goodbye. 

“I don’t have long,” Geralt said, looking right into Cyril’s green eyes.

The man sniffled, “It’s called terminal lucidity. It’s an end of life experience. I’ve tried to do everything I can to make you comfortable, but gramps, I don’t...I don’t want you to go. When I came to the apartment and saw you talking in thin air to a man that had been dead for centuries, I knew it was soon, but I can’t let you go, I can’t lose you. You’d been talking to him more lately, using him as a way to justify your lack of memories.”

Geralt tried to squeeze Cyril’s hand tighter but couldn’t find much strength. He could, however, find words. 

“For centuries, I have watched as my husband, my best friend, my daughter and every manner of family has been taken from me. I viewed it as a curse. Witchers have been extinct for many years, there have been no monsters for even longer, and we were never meant to live this long. I never grew slow and got killed. I grew smart and lived, to protect you. But I know you will be safe. You will be good.”

Cyril was openly sobbing now. “You are what makes me good. You are what inspires me to be better.”

“Someone else once told me I was their good, and I in return told them I would never leave. But, I think, looking back on it now, it is selfish to tell someone you will never leave them. At a certain point, we all must say farewell and journey to the next place. We may be leaving each other, but we will one day reunite.”

Geralt looked over at the window and saw that it was dark. The moon was not out but he saw a glimmer of light. He looked out into the night sky and saw, there, in the stars, the people he had left behind. They were made of stars, their bodies indistinct but he knew they were there, reaching for him, wanting him. He looked over and in the chair on the other side of the bed was Jaskier. He looked as young as the day Geralt met him, fresh onto his travels, and seemed to have a luminous smile on his face. 

He didn’t say anything. For once, he never needed to and but he just reached out his hand imploring at Geralt. This was to be his legacy. Not one of fire and battles, of a death wrought in flame and war. His legacy was to be a life lived not to be grand, but to be good. He looked over at Cyril, the last-last Lion of Cintra for the final time. 

“I love you,” Geralt said, and his voice was softer, weaker, and he felt his heart begin to slow, “I love you and I chose you, but I think it’s time I reunited with those I’ve lost. One day, you’ll be there too.” 

And Cyril held on, his hand tightening around Geralt’s almost painfully and he held onto that feeling even as he reached for Jaskier with his other hand. As he reached for Jaskier, the skin on his hand seemed to tighten, the flesh growing young once more. He looked over at the man who held his heart and was grateful, so grateful that Jaskier was to be the one to take him to Eternity. Their hands tightened around each other and he felt the cords of life and starlight wraps around their hands, joining them together. Finally, they were going to be reunited. 

Geralt never felt himself leave the bed, but he drifted off, all the same, his hand connected to the one he loves, pulling him faster, farther into darkness all around. 

_Because I could not stop for Death –_

_He kindly stopped for me –_

_The Carriage held but just Ourselves –_

_And Immortality._

_We slowly drove – He knew no haste_

_And I had put away_

_My labor and my leisure too,_

_For His Civility –_

_We passed the School, where Children strove_

_At Recess – in the Ring –_

_We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –_

_We passed the Setting Sun –_

_Or rather – He passed Us –_

_The Dews drew quivering and Chill –_

_For only Gossamer, my Gown –_

_My Tippet – only Tulle –_

_We paused before a House that seemed_

_A Swelling of the Ground –_

_The Roof was scarcely visible –_

_The Cornice – in the Ground –_

_Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet_

_Feels shorter than the Day_

_I first surmised the Horses' Heads_

_Were toward Eternity –_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Did I use an Emily Dickinson poem at the end? yup, it's a coping mechanism. All I can write is angst sorry everyone but I really tore my heart out with this one. It's something else. What did you think of the ending?
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who can guess what the answer to the title is. Where are the horses’ heads turned?


End file.
